


Flesh

by Kawaii_Kitty360



Category: Lupin III
Genre: And then Lupin comes in and gets fucked up as well, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Torture, But like. Barely., Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Kidnapping, Not Beta Read, Vinny Loshaw is LowKey Inspired by Kira Yoshikage and yes that's a JoJo reference, WE GOT ART BOIS, Zenigata basically just gets fucked up for 4 chapters, credit where credit's due, idk how to tag this UUUHH, inconsistent grammatical tense because author is a smooth-brained clown, maybe I'll come in and add art?, probably unrealistic portrayal of injury cuz again smooth-brain, wouldn't that be a total pog moment, you can't tell because of the astonishing lack of mention of hands but you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25046623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaii_Kitty360/pseuds/Kawaii_Kitty360
Summary: Zenigata isn’t new to being kidnapped- held hostage, as some sort of collateral damage for a criminal’s grand escape. It’s actually kind of horrifying, how unthreatened he feels when it happens nowadays.However, this might be a new situation.Vinny Loshaw, a man with a criminal record a mile long, holds Zenigata captive in his hideout with a single goal in mind: lure Lupin III there and kill him slowly.
Relationships: Arsène Lupin III & Zenigata Kouichi
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *crashes through the nearest window*  
> so,  
> UH,  
> I didn't expect to finish this? But I, uh, did. So here we are. I'm posting this at, *glances at a nonexistent watch on wrist* midnight. Ish. Uh, anyway, I have no excuse. I just wanted to write this, and I guess, if you're here you wanna read it. Which is awesome! Cuz so much time, energy, and useless research went into this thing. Seriously. I have never googled so many variants of the question 'when was _ invented' just so I didn't make a fool to all of the like, one person who might just try to fact-check this story.  
> Anyway, my brain is fried, so I'm just gonna throw this to the wind and come back in the morning and maybe edit some things. Like the tags. And probably everything else.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Characters are probably gonna be slightly OOC because, if you've read any of my previous stuff, you'll know I'm pretty bad at writing characters for the first time.
> 
> I'll get this obnoxiously long note out of your face now. Hope to see you at the end notes!! <3

Zenigata wakes with all senses assaulted.

A moldy, musty smell is making its new home deep within his nasal cavity. His tongue is heavy, saliva thick and stale in his mouth, and he spits, dragging his tongue along the sides of his mouth to moisten it and get the stale taste out. A dying fluorescent light hangs overhead, making Zenigata’s headache increasingly worse with not only the dull hum it emits, but also the horrible lighting it gives off. He can just barely make out the corners of the room he’s in. The light makes it hard for his eyes to adjust, and when it flickers, it resets any progress he made trying to see through the thick shroud of darkness around him.

He can’t tell if the room is small, or if it’s actually huge. Trying to peer deeper into the room yields only with an impenetrable darkness, so he eventually stops trying altogether and just settles into his position.

Trying to adjust himself into an upright position reveals that his wrists are bound behind his back, ankles are also tied, prohibiting him from moving at all. He only wishes that he were on a chair, preferably with a nice cushion, arms tied to the armrests rather than the current, rather crude, position he finds himself in.

Beggars can’t be choosers, he decides, trying to shift his weight to help his aching shoulder. He’s getting too old for this shit.

Somewhere in the dark, something shifts, and Zenigata freezes, immediately trying to hone in on the sound. It sounded a good distance away, maybe five meters? They were far enough back that the dim radius of light didn’t even touch the tips of their shoes.

“Who’s there?” Zenigata barks, eyes narrowed, skimming for any kind of movement, but the shadows are dancing in front of him, and it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s just his eyes playing tricks.

Maybe there wasn’t anything there at all.

Zenigata jerks his wrists, twisting them and ignoring the sharp nip of the rope against his skin. He can put up with a little pain if it means getting free. He leans his weight onto his arm, trying to fall onto his back so he can push his legs in front of him because, really, if he sits in this position for much longer he isn’t sure he’ll be able to handle it. As he’s attempting, though, a sharp noise comes from a few feet to his right, and Zenigata looks up in time to see a shape stepping forward.

Their shoes hit the ring of light, and though they can’t be any more than five feet away from him, Zenigata still can’t make out who they are. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” they tell him, voice soft, but oddly familiar. The lilt they have, the way they enunciate certain words, hits some part of Zenigata’s brain, and he immediately gets to work siphoning through his mental filing cabinets of information and work-related identities to match voice to face and face to name. “You may have deduced that the ropes that bind your wrists are connected to the ones that bind your ankles. You may have noticed, but you have no hopes of regaining an upright position. Without help, that is, but I doubt your ego would allow someone like me to dare touch you, and I would not guarantee that I would even offer. I think I find your position endearing, like a turtle on its back or a caterpillar attempting to cross a leaf directly into a spider’s nest.”

“Who are you?” Zenigata asks, unsure if they will even respond, but they make an amused sound in the back of their throat, and they step further into the light.

Long, stringy blond hair drapes around his face and shoulders. Light, straggly stubble makes a peppered appearance on his jaw. His eyes are heavily hooded, with heavy bags underneath them, making him look significantly older than he might actually be.

“It would make sense that you do not know me. You are from Japan, and not everyone’s name can carry such weight as some. My name is Vinny Loshaw.”

Immediately, a red alarm blares in his mind, and his eyes widen. “You--! Chief Moor warned me about you! You’re a thief, and a murderer! You’re under arrest!”

Vinny smiles at him, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “That’s cute. You think, in your position, you can arrest me?” He saunters over, and Zenigata struggles harder, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his cheek as Vinny bends at his waist, placing a hand on Zenigata’s shoulder and squeezing, using the grip to pull Zenigata upright. It’s uncomfortable as he settles on his knees, sitting completely on his bound ankles. “I could push you over, and you would be able to do nothing about it, and you feel like you’re in such a position to threaten me?” His lips twitch, and he bares his teeth in a disingenuous grin. “I think I like you, Inspector Koichi Zenigata. You have more guts than any officer I’ve interacted with in the past six years.”

“I’m flattered,” Zenigata spits, narrowing his eyes. “But I’m being serious.”

“As am I, Zenigata. As am I.”

Vinny jostles him gently, steadying him before letting him go and retreating into the shadows again.

Zenigata contemplates continuing to fight his way out of his binds, but he isn’t sure if it’s worth it. Vinny warned him that he was unlikely to help Zenigata upright again, and being on the floor would put him at a massive disadvantage to whatever Vinny was planning to do with him.

So instead he waits, ignoring the gritting pain in his knees from the cold concrete below, for Vinny to return.

Two minutes pass. Zenigata feels restless, wanting to fight his way out but not wanting to be put in a vulnerable position if he fails. He’s never been good at being patient. Right as he begins to pull at his bindings again, the light goes out.

His heart leaps into his throat as his vision plunges into total darkness, and he can’t decide if not being able to see at all is worse than the poor lighting he originally had.

He doesn’t get long to miss it, though, when the light comes on again, brighter than it was before.

“I do apologize,” Vinny says as he walks back into Zenigata’s line of sight. “The lights here do get quite finicky when they’re left on for too long. But now that that’s fixed, we may continue our previous conversation. Or, rather, I may begin another one. I’m sure you wish to know what you’re doing here, and your brain is probably trying to think about what I might want with you. I assure you, Zenigata, it’s nothing insidious, or personal. Rather, it’s quite a selfish reason.”

He stops, midstep, on his approach, only to double back and reach just past the light to grab a fold-up chair, already set up, and place it a few feet from Zenigata, sitting on it backwards so he can rest his arms along the back.

“Do you desire to know my intentions, Zenigata, and what it is exactly I plan to do with you?”

The way he said that makes Zenigata’s skin crawl, but he remains steadfast, jutting his jaw out and narrowing his eyes.

“I don’t give a damn about what you want,” Zenigata growls, “and you could kill me for all I care. Whatever you want from me, or from the police, you will not get. I will not allow it.”

Vinny forces himself into a standing position, kicking his leg out over the chair and walking over to squat in front of him. He wears what Zenigata can only describe as an unimpressed expression, wrists draped loosely over his knees. Zenigata does his best to match the look on his face, hoping to really drill in the fact that whatever goal he was aiming to accomplish, Zenigata would be nothing more than a nuisance in the face of Vinny’s plans.

Vinny’s fist jolts out, wrapping into Zenigata’s undershirt (why did he only just now realize he wasn’t wearing his trenchcoat?), bringing him forward as his other hand springs forward, and Zenigata yelps when his fist makes contact with his cheek.

He lets out a howl in pain, then panic as he begins to fall backwards, only to realize that Vinny still has a hold of his shirt, and is preventing him from falling. Zenigata groans as he gets lifted, ever so slightly, off the ground, before he’s being pulled forward by his hair and getting a solid knee into the bridge of his nose.

Pain blooms immediately, a blinding white heat that makes Zenigata’s eyes water. He can feel the telltale trickle coming on, signifying a bloody and possibly broken nose, and there’s a sharp pulse in his lower lip. He runs his tongue along it experimentally, tasting blood immediately. Son of a bitch busted his lip open. His nose begins to run, and he doesn’t even have to lick his upper lip to know that it’s already begun to bleed.

“Difficult. You’re being. Difficult.” Vinny snarls, voice punctuated and shrill. “You didn’t even let me explain myself. I want to like you, Zenigata, but I don’t like you right now. You don’t want to see what I do to people I don’t like.”

Vinny lets Zenigata go and storms off.

Zenigata watches him fade into the darkness, licking his lips and letting the blood mingle with the saliva until it thickens. He turns and spits, heavy, to the side, wishing the concrete floor where his sputum landed were Vinny’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Glad to see you made it this far! I hope you enjoyed what you read and stick around, cuz I plan to update this every, like... Friday. Or so. I might get impatient, because I hate having finished stories just..... sit. Feels weird. 
> 
> Regardless, I hope you stick around, and I hope to see you in the next chapter! Adios, mon ami! <33
> 
> Art by: [ItsAlex84 <3](https://lexi-does.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice to see you again!  
> So, I'm gonna be busy tomorrow (Friday) so here's an early upload! <3

If Zenigata had to guess, two hours have passed since Vinny left. Two hours filled with pain and blood, dripping off his chin and staining his white undershirt. The force of being hit in the face twice gave him a black eye, making his left eye’s vision blurry and watery. Zenigata keeps his head tipped forward, breathing steadily and trying not to inhale deeply through his nose so as to not inhale blood.

Time passes in a crawl. Zenigata feels acutely aware of every passing second that he’s stuck there, kneeling, and yet he has no actual idea as to how long it’s actually been.

He can only run on guesses based on the functionality of his internal clock, but he knows it’s not that good. His mind tells him it’s been two hours, so that’s what he goes with.

It’s just before what he thinks is the third-hour mark when movement catches his ears again, and he glances up to see Vinny once again walking towards him. He’s wearing the same impassive look as usual, any hint of irritation wiped completely clean. He takes one look at Zenigata’s appearance and clicks his tongue.

“Dear me, you look quite the mess, Inspector. Had you asked, I would’ve provided you with a tissue! Or, perhaps I wouldn’t have. I have to say, seeing you so roughed up, covered in blood like that, is quite the sight. Much better than your usual prim, ironed look, I must say.”

“Like I would accept anything from you,” Zenigata mutters, and Vinny’s small brow twitches.

“I see you still have an attitude. That is fair. I was rather… rude to you. Very unkind of me. Though, I will not apologize. You were being rather rude to me as well. I think it only fair to treat those as you want to be treated.”

Not a bad philosophy, but it does make Zenigata want to punch him in the face. You know. Just to take his word to heart.

“It’s fine. I can understand your vehemence towards me. You don’t know me. Well. You know my name. You know my… occupation. But you don’t know why you’re here. Why I keep you away from the job you love. The job you wish to do. I want to help you, in a way. I want you to help me. I think we can both benefit from this venture. You see, Inspector Zenigata, I do not want your life. I want your assistance.”

“Assistance?” He can’t help but ask. Whatever it is, he’s going to refuse, but there’s no real harm in questioning. In fact, it’s his job. “With what?”

Vinny smiles at him, a warm look on his face that makes Zenigata sick. “I’m glad you’re coming around. Zenigata, you might not believe this, but we have similar acquaintance circles. I want you to help me meet up with somebody I haven’t seen in a long, long time. I believe you have the capability to do this for me. Will you? Do this for me? Zenigata?”

The inspector chews on the inside of his cheek with a grunt. “I can’t do anything in this position.”

Vinny chuckles and resumes his spot in his chair, settling in with ease. “You misunderstand. It’s my fault. I gave you inadequate information. You see, your job is to just do what you’ve been doing. Sitting here, bleeding all over yourself and looking pretty. That’s all you have to do. The rest will fall into place.”

“So why did you ask?” Zenigata snaps before he can stop himself. He’s got a one-way ticket to another knee in the face if he keeps this up. “If I can’t do anything about it, why did you ask for help when you knew I wouldn’t be able to refuse?”

Vinny hums. “A good question. I like to let my… clients feel like they have some amount of control over the situations they find themselves in. It would’ve gone against my code if I kept you in the dark about it, and at least didn’t try to ask. Most of the time, people say yes. But you, Zenigata. You’re a special case. You don’t crack under pressure like most people do. You don’t have such a strong… sense of perseverance that weighs your brothers in arms down on the battlefield. That’s what I like about you, Zenigata. You aren’t afraid to do what’s right.”

Zenigata chooses to ignore most of that, instead asking another question that’s burning in his head: “Who do you want to meet?” Zenigata can’t think of many people who would rush in headfirst to save him. In fact, not even his fellow officers would and he knows that for a fact.

“Somebody you know very, very well.”

That still doesn’t help. Zenigata’s face must give it away, because Vinny’s chuckling to himself before pulling back, adjusting his position in his chair.

“I’m talking about Lupin III, Zenigata,” he says, standing and moving towards a desk just barely within the light’s radius. “I want you to lure Lupin here, to me, so I can gut him, and bleed him slowly. In front of you, if you’d like. I know how often he slips your grasp, like sand through a thin sifter.”

Zenigata blinks. This guy can’t be serious. “You can’t be serious,” he voices, brows rising to his hairline.

“Oh, only deadly, Inspector Zenigata.”

“But-- he-- he’s not going to come. You have nothing he wants. Nothing he cares about.”

“On the contrary, Inspector. I have you.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Zenigata insists again, glaring hard at the figure in front of him. Vinny has taken to sitting on top of the desk, kicking his legs gently against the metal of it. “He’s not going to come.”

Something about that must be amusing, because Vinny’s lips curl up as he lets out a small chuckle.

“You really don’t know him, do you?”

“Of course I do! He doesn’t _care_ about me! I’m nothing to him! Just do whatever you’re planning because he ain’t cominn--”

While he was speaking, Vinny got up and began approaching him with speed only accomplished by long legs, and Zenigata chokes, mid-sentence, as Vinny crams a pistol into his mouth. Only an inch of the barrel is in his mouth, but the hold is firm, and Zenigata can’t turn his head nor pull away to escape the insistent push of the firearm.

“You must think so _low_ of him,” Vinny growls, and confusion rears from deep within Zenigata. Lupin was someone who earned Zenigata’s wholehearted respect, but even he knew that Lupin wouldn’t take the bait. There _was_ no bait. Lupin, for all their rivalry was worth, would probably rather let Zenigata die than risk his life to save the officer trying to put him and his gang behind bars. “He’ll show. I can guarantee it.”

Vinny gently pushes the pistol further into Zenigata’s mouth, and he chokes slightly at the intrusion pressing against the back of his throat. Vinny’s knuckles are nearly flush with his lips, and he can feel the overflow of saliva his mouth is producing being pushed out of his mouth by the pistol’s presence. It’s uncomfortable, it’s gross, and when he cracks open his right eye, peering up through the water gathering on his lower eyelid, he catches the weird expression on Vinny’s face.

“He’ll come.”

The pistol is ripped unceremoniously from Zenigata’s mouth, and the sudden motion sends him into a coughing fit. Vinny studies his pistol, now wet with a thin coat of thick saliva, and he raises it up, eyes sliding from it to Zenigata. His tongue darts out to skim the metal, and Zenigata notices the deep flush on his cheeks. Was he getting off on this? It wouldn’t surprise him. A lot of criminals do.

“Have some faith,” Vinny tells him, and Zenigata bares his teeth.

“You sick bastard.”

Vinny simply shrugs and begins to walk away. “You will need to use worse words to wound me, Zenigata. May I call you Koichi? I understand that may be too formal, but we are business partners. I find it only fitting that we are to be on a first-name basis. Don’t you?”

“No,” Zenigata growls. The last person who called him by his first name casually was his ex-wife, and that was years ago. Nobody’s used it since.

“That’s fair. Then, may I request you call me Loshaw? Just to be even. If you went around calling me Vinny, well, I might find you a hypocrite.”

“It won’t matter what I’m calling you when you’re behind bars.”

Loshaw rolls his eyes. “Again with this. You know full well that isn’t going to happen, Zenigata.”

“No. I don’t know. You question my relationship with Lupin, and yet you seem to know him even less than you think I do. If you underestimate Lupin, he won’t be dead, and you will be behind bars. That’s just the way it is.”

“I don’t underestimate anyone, Zenigata. That’s why I tied you up so well. Your little stunt earlier would’ve worked, had I not bound your wrists to your ankles. Underestimating your enemies is how you get yourself killed.”

He’s right. Zenigata’s seen it happen on multiple occasions. People who didn’t know Lupin and his tricks, and refused to listen to Zenigata, often got made the fool of the most.

Loshaw looks at his wrist with a low hum. “I estimate that Lupin will arrive within three hours. He is quite punctual.”

Zenigata’s brow twitches, and he asks, “How are you so sure he’s coming? He doesn’t even know I’m here. He probably doesn’t even know I’m in England yet.”

“Oh, I told him, of course.”

“You what.”

“Finding out where he’s staying was easy, if you know the clues. He always sticks with the same M.O.; I’m sure you know this. I sent a letter to him, not too long after I caught you. He’ll come. Like a knight in shining armor, the gentlemanly thief Arsène Lupin III will show before dawn.”

Something creeps through Zenigata’s veins, his skin erupting into goosebumps as it makes its way through his bloodstream. His brain nags him, telling him to get out as fast as he can, but the biggest thing in his way is the ropes around his limbs. He can barely get out of a standard rope loop around his body, let alone something as elaborate as Loshaw’s rope tricks.

He’s seen Lupin escape any kind of binding that Zenigata knows, but even he’s sure that Lupin would not be able to escape this one.

From what Zenigata can tell by unclenching his fists and letting his hands skim the rope, the ties around his wrists and ankles are different, connected by another rope knotted somewhere further down. Having to break out of one knot is hard enough- there’s no way he can bust out of a potential three.

“Is there anything you want?” Loshaw begins, and his voice is soft, a gentle prod that makes Zenigata’s face contort into an immediate cringe. “Anything I can get you? Something to drink? A small snack?”

He’s been parched since he woke up here some three hours ago, but there’s no way he’s accepting anything from this guy. It would be a perfect opportunity to slip something inside of him- whether it just be a sleeping pill or a capsule full of poison. “Yeah, sure. Get me the hell out of these ropes.”

Loshaw frowns and clicks his tongue. “You understand why I can’t do that. I can bring you some water. Would you like some water, Zenigata?”

There’s nothing he would love more. “I’ll accept nothing from you.”

Loshaw shrugs his shoulders in a way that looks totally noncommittal, but Zenigata feels like he’s struggling to hide his anger towards Zenigata’s disposition. He’s probably used to dealing with people who are scared of him, knowing who he is and what he’s done. Any normal person would be scared of the situation.

Zenigata’s a little too used to this kind of thing to let it get to him anymore. He’ll put his life on the line to capture whoever it is he’s after, even if that someone has been the same person for way longer than he would care to admit.

“I wish you weren’t so… stubborn. So arrogant. So… high and mighty. I will return, and when I do, you will truly decide for yourself.”

When his figure fades into the dark, Zenigata really gets to work on his wrists. The rope is loose, but not so loose he can slip out of them, but damn it if he doesn’t try. He pulls his wrists, then tries angling his arms so he can bring his wrists closer to his body in a fast motion, but even that doesn’t make the rope budge. All it does is jerk his ankles, and he hisses in pain as his leg begins to cramp, sending electrifying pain through his limb, and he struggles to adjust to uncramp his muscles. He leans back, allowing more slack to shift his ankles a little, and eventually the cramping goes away. He lets out a sigh and slowly leans back to his original position as to not do that to himself again.

He closes his eyes, shifting his wrists around, but slower. The ropes were applied when he was unconscious, so even letting his hands relax and trying to pinch his thumbs and pinkies together got him nowhere. He opens his eyes again, scanning the area around him to make sure Loshaw hadn’t returned and was just silently watching him attempt to escape.

When he makes no headway, he lets out a grunt and ceases his movements. His wrists are really beginning to hurt now, rubbed raw and on the verge of beginning to bleed. Brute forcing his way out of this situation isn’t going to get him anywhere, and he realizes that. He needs to come up with a plan, and fast, to dispatch this guy. He has no doubt that Lupin, the sly, slimy, quick-on-his-feet bastard that he is, will have no problems outrunning or outsmarting him, but being able to stay on his toes and somehow release Zenigata? That would be impossible.

Not like he would. Knowing Lupin, he would probably just leave Zenigata there, or at least leave his hands still bound so Zenigata would have no choice but to free himself, or walk back to the police station. It would probably be the latter, because while Lupin is kind (kinder than any criminal should be) he isn’t stupid, and freeing your enemy while you have no clear way to escape would be a death sentence-- or, in Lupin’s case, a court trial. And then a death sentence, because with everything Lupin’s done so far and has yet to do, there’s no way he’s getting anything but the chair. Or the gallows, or, just a likely, a shot through the heart- or skull- on the side of the road or, if things continue the way they’re going, this very location.

Zenigata pulls against his bindings again, clenching his jaw and growling under his breath. There was no way he was going to let Lupin die against this _asshole._ If Lupin dies, it’s by Zenigata’s hands, and no one else’s.

The crinkling of a plastic bag catches Zenigata’s attention, and Loshaw saunters back into the light, holding a black chip bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

“I do apologize. I hope you like Space Raiders. I personally enjoy them immensely. Both are unopened, and I will open them before you here to prove I haven’t done anything… unsavory, to either items.”

Loshaw sits in front of him, crossing his legs and setting the chips next to him. He holds the water bottle out to Zenigata before pressing his palm into the lid and cracking it open, pressing it to Zenigata’s lips, even as he attempts to lean back and away from it. “Drink.”

If he tries to speak, Loshaw will take the opportunity to tip the bottle towards him and pour some under his water, so he just keeps his lips pressed firmly together, head turned away.

The bottle trembles lightly against him, and Zenigata glances over to see Loshaw’s brows knit tightly, lips downturned into a frown.

“I don’t understand you. I don’t understand your… type. You are so difficult. You intentionally fight against me, even when I’m trying to help you. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“That’s impossible,” Zenigata snaps, and instantly regrets it as the bottle is tipped and water pours into his mouth. He sputters, pulling back and getting drenched, while also spitting the water out, though it more just waterfalls out of his mouth and all over himself and his now-wet clothes.

“Why? Why do you refuse me?”

“I don’t get why you’re so offended,” Zenigata growls. “We’re-- you-- I’m being held _hostage._ You have me tied up, in an unknown location, and you expect me to accept your hospitality?”

Loshaw recaps the bottle slowly before wiping his hands clean on his jeans. He takes a breath- a slow, deep inhale, before he surges forward and seizes Zenigata by the jaw. “I could kill you. I could _mutilate_ you, to the point that not even _Lupin himself_ will be able to tell your remains apart from a pot of pulled pork. I could drive my knife into your gut and bleed you dry. So, yes, Zenigata. I expect you to accept my hospitality.”

Zenigata sneers, and he’s certain Loshaw is going to kill him on the spot. “I already told you to just kill me.”

Loshaw pushes himself upright, using his grip on Zenigata’s face as leverage, and Zenigata grunts as he hits the floor, turning last second so he lands heavily on his shoulder rather than his bound hands or ankles. “I just might, Zenigata. I just… _might._ ”

Zenigata cranes his neck to look over his shoulder at the sound of Loshaw walking away, and he grunts, shimmying in his new position to get onto his stomach. The floor smells awful, and he’s sure he’s inhaling all kinds of dust and who knows what else. He presses his forehead into the ground, using it as leverage to flex his shoulders, trying to bring them forward and attempting to stretch his legs outward. It _hurts,_ but it’s necessary, and a groan turns into a growl as pain spikes all throughout his body. He lets himself relax with a gasp, rolling his neck and rubbing his forehead against the ground to ease the pulsing ache he inflicted upon himself. Trying to bust free that way isn’t getting him anywhere, and he rolls slightly, bouncing from one shoulder to the other, using his knees to angle himself, and he turns himself around. The bottle and chips are still where Loshaw left them, and Zenigata carefully maneuvers around them, unsure of Loshaw’s position in the room. His heavy breathing and scuffing is loud enough- he doesn’t need plastic to make things worse. There’s a desk, right at the edge of the light. If he can make it there, he can probably try to use the corners of it to weaken the rope holding his wrists to his ankles. Once he’s free that way, he can bring his arms and legs in front of him and untie himself. Hopefully, Loshaw will be gone for another two hours after their most recent bout. That should leave him with more than enough time.

He feels like a fish out of water, crawling along the floor like a frog. It takes him a good handful of minutes, but he eventually reaches the desk and turns around, looking back to watch as he lines his feet up with the corner of the desk until his shoes are on either side of it. Trying to seesaw his legs is beyond uncomfortable, but he grits his teeth and bares it, moving his feet in any way that he can in order to drag the rope along the metal. After about a minute or two of repeated motions, his calves are really beginning to feel it but the fiery ache only gives him more motivation to work faster. His face is, once again, pressed against the concrete, turned towards the direction Loshaw usually comes from, not like it would mean anything. Loshaw would see him ages before Zenigata even knows he’s back.

He bangs his knee against the desk and lets out a hiss. That was loud. That was _way_ too loud. If Loshaw comes back, there’s no way that Zenigata will be able to get away from him. Or explain the situation. Not like he would even try-- the position he’s in is incriminating enough that he’ll be able to put two and two together.

He holds his breath. A few agonizing minutes pass, but when nothing happens, Zenigata begins to move his legs again. He can’t tell if he’s making any progress. At all. The ropes don’t slack, and it’s hard to tell if the sound of the rope sliding across the metal is also the sound of it fraying and coming apart.

Zenigata squeezes his eyes shut, pulling a face as he continues to drag his feet up and down. Frustration builds and builds until he finds it hard to breathe, teeth gnawing against his bottom lip, digging into the cut he forgot about and making him wince. He has to be close. He’s been attempting to cut himself free for almost ten minutes now. He pulls his back up, curving it and craning his neck over his broad shoulder, but it’s impossible to see. It doesn’t look like anything’s happening. No progress has been made. He can’t-- he isn’t going to get out of this. Not alone.

But he can’t just wait around for Lupin to show. He can’t hold his breath, waiting for that flaky thief to maybe-maybe not save him. He isn’t some damsel. Lupin sure as hell isn’t a knight in shining armor, but he’s definitely the last person Zenigata would ever want to see in a situation like this.

The thought makes him kick his legs against the desk, spreading his ankles as far apart as he can and really digging it into the metal. He’s trembling, and he can feel it everywhere: in his strained muscles, in his shoulders, in his jaw, and in his lower lip, reopened and stinging, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so _over_ something in his goddamn life.

He has to be close. He _has_ to be. He’s--

“Well. You most certainly get an A for your efforts.”

Zenigata’s breath falls out of him in the form of a sharp gasp, and he turns his head in just enough time to watch the tip of Loshaw’s boot heading straight for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by: [ItsAlex84 <3](https://lexi-does.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

“You aren’t thinking about going, are you?”

Lupin hums from his position on the hotel couch. The room they got this time was small- smaller than normal, but it was only him and Jigen, so the size was no problem. If Goemon or Fujiko needed to come by for any reason, such as help them on their jobs, they would need to get their own separate rooms, because there was no room for anyone else.

Well, Lupin’s pretty sure the couch he’s on is actually a pull-out bed, but he hasn’t had time to try and fuck around with it enough to figure it out.

His legs are kicked up over one armrest while he leans against the other, one arm crooked behind his neck and the other above him, holding the letter that arrived for them almost four hours prior.

It was from some guy named Vinny Loshaw, addressed solely to Lupin, detailing his capture of one Inspector Koichi Zenigata and demanding Lupin’s audience. To talk, he says, promising Zenigata’s unharm provided that Lupin actually shows. If he doesn’t, well… Zenigata’s as good as dead.

Lupin’s fingers tighten on the paper, and he lets out a loud sigh as he lets his arm fall, draping over the back of the couch. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“ _Lupin._ ”

The man kicks his legs out and sits up, spinning to plant his legs on the hotel floor. He hunches over himself, pulling his free hand to his mouth and holding the letter up in front of him again. “I’m thinking, okay? Give me a break!”

His partner’s hand comes down on the back of the couch, and he leans in, the light bouncing off the end of his cigarette and hitting the paper in front of him. It’s pitch black outside, but Lupin can’t sleep, and when Lupin can’t sleep, Jigen can’t, either. He feels bad, forcing his partner to bear his fits of insomnia with him, but it’s not like Lupin has him at gunpoint, ordering him to stay awake alongside him. Jigen can go to bed whenever he feels like it, and Lupin knows that he knows this. Being a night owl, Lupin primarily comes up with the best plans in the wee hours of the morning, and Jigen likes to stay awake to help him brainstorm. Even if his help classifies as just being another body to rant and spitball ideas at.

Lupin appreciates it all the same. He’s planned Jigen to sleep multiple times, lit cigarette just barely sticking to his lips as his head bows under the weight of unconsciousness.

“If you’re thinking about it, that means you’re going to go.”

Lupin lets out a noise as Jigen rips the letter from him and begins to crumple it. “Ay-yi-yi-yi-- Jigen, stop that!”

Lupin lunges, but the other man dodges, spinning casually out of Lupin’s way, and he yelps as he crashes face-first into the fridge, body folding in on itself. He falls to the kitchenette floor with a grunt, feeling Jigen’s gaze hot on his back.

“So what if Zenigata’s been kidnapped? We aren’t his keepers.”

“I know that!” Lupin barks, fixing his position quickly to rest his back against the fridge door. He crosses his arms and presses his feet together, bouncing his knee and pursing his lips in indignation. Jigen stares at him from under the brim of his hat, waiting for Lupin to finish his sentence, but when he doesn’t, he huffs, squeezing the letter (now just a simple paper ball) in his hand. “I told you, I’m thinking.”

“You better not go, Lupin.”

“I never said I was going to!”

Jigen harrumphs and crosses his arms, paper ball held loosely in his hand. “Yeah, but you’ve been _thinking_ it. Why else have you been rereading this thing for the past four hours? You should be planning for our heist, not some rescue mission to save the person who wants to see you behind bars the most.”

Lupin chews the inside of his cheek and stays quiet. He hasn’t decided if he actually wants to go to the address listed at the bottom of the letter, or if he just wants to stretch, brush his teeth, and hit the hay. He lets out a loud groan and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Gah, my head hurts!”

“Go to bed, then,” Jigen snaps above him, walking past Lupin to dip his cigarette into a cup in the sink, the water inside killing the light instantly. Jigen flicks it into the nearest trash can, just a few feet from the both of them.

Lupin really should. He’s running on no hours in the past two days at this point, unable to sleep, feeling too anxious-- too excited, but now with this letter, with Zenigata captured, he feels more dread than anything. Even if he does try to go to sleep, he knows he wouldn’t be able to. Not when he knows Zenigata is in some kind of potential danger.

But Jigen has a point. They aren’t the old man’s keeper. They aren’t responsible for him, in any way, but there’s an uncomfortable feeling in Lupin’s gut that keeps him restless. Before they got the letter, Lupin was beginning to feel the effects of his lack of sleep, but the moment he read what the letter said, any exhaustion was wiped from his body.

Still, he sighs, stretching his arms high above his head. “Alright, alright. You win.” He picks himself up and presses his hands to his lower back, pressing against it to help cant his hips forward, popping his lower back and tailbone. “I’ll go to sleep.”

Jigen watches him go, and Lupin knows his brow is raised. It’s often hell to get Lupin to sleep when he wants to stay up, so he must know something’s up if Lupin agreed so quickly. The truth is, Lupin’s exhausted. He needs to sleep, or he won’t be able to function, and their jobs will suffer for it. He’ll get a few hours and hope it’s not too late to make a decision with this Vinny guy’s letter. It said he had until dawn to make a choice.

Lupin brushes his teeth and falls into his bed, having already been in his pajamas- as he has been for the past few days since arriving in England. They don’t have anywhere to go, Lupin still in the planning stages of the job, so there’s no reason to wear anything but.

He adjusts himself on the bed, pulling the covers high over his head and snuggling down into the mattress, head practically swallowed by the plush, fluffed pillow. It’s nice. Relaxing. It’s been so long since he actually got a good night’s rest…

* * *

Jigen’s out like a light when Lupin pops his head into his adjacent room. Even so, Lupin set his blankets up to make it look his body is still there, just in case Jigen gets the wise idea to pop his head in and make sure Lupin didn’t slip out in the night.

There would be no reason for him to think that. Lupin rarely goes anywhere without informing his partner, just in case something bad happens and Jigen needs to come for him ASAP. This is one of those instances where he can’t tell him, though-- he’s asleep, for one, and he’d get really upset if he found Lupin was actually going. He’d come around eventually, though, but his relationship with Zenigata was one that only the two of them could truly understand. To everyone else, Zenigata’s just in the way. It’s not like that to Lupin, and Lupin knows that, deep down, it’s the same for Zenigata. There’s years of respect built on top of their rivalry, and Lupin could never just throw that away. Not after all Zenigata’s done to help them.

Lupin pulls a face as he guides the hotel room door shut, releasing the handle slowly so it makes no noise. He tests it, quietly, to make sure it’s locked before looking at the keys in his hand. One to the room, and the other to the Fiat, down in the parking garage below. He nods and shoves both in his pocket, keeping his hand there as he strolls down the hallway.

He has no idea what Vinny Loshaw wants with him, or Zenigata. He’s never heard the name before in his life. Well, that was a lie. He’s heard of him quite a bit, around the town they’re in. Vinny is a murderer, only ever been caught in his life but he quickly escaped prison. He’s still at large, and when someone goes missing, it’s often chalked up to Vinny.

But what would a guy like that want with Lupin? It made no sense. As far as he’s aware, he’s never bumped into Vinny, or done anything to personally offend him. Then again, the letter did just say he wanted to talk, but if that were true, why keep Zenigata as collateral? Something wasn’t adding up, and it bugged Lupin all the way to the Fiat, down the road, and towards the address he spent two hours memorizing.

The address wasn’t far from their hotel- a ten-minute drive east, in a pretty innocuous-looking house. Maybe he _did_ only want to talk. Lupin, a little hesitant, fiddles with his jacket sleeves, folding them properly over his wrists and adjusting his tie before sidestepping the front door and approaching a nearby window. Peeking in from the side, it’s mostly blocked by curtains, but he can see movement right in front of the window. He slips past it and continues, looking into every window. As far as he can tell, the figure in the living room is the only person home. Is that Vinny? Or the owner of the house? Hard to say.

Lupin tests the kitchen window, pressing his palm against it and pushing upwards. When the window slides open, he starts going slower with it, pushing it up until the mechanism clicks into place and keeps it open for him to slide inside. He turns around and leans through with his head first, pressing his hands on either side of the wall to ease the rest of his body in. He spins on his tailbone, keeping his legs up as to not swipe everything off the counters before quietly touching down on the tile, reaching up to slide the window back shut. He creeps towards the entrance of the kitchen, leaning around and making sure nobody was around before continuing through the dark towards the living room.

What surprises him the most is that he recognizes the person on the couch. His thin, blond hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, a little bit of bang hanging out to cover his eyebrows. Spotty stubble lines his jaw, and his lips are pulled tight as he studies the book in his hands.

Lupin slides out from his lurking spot around the corner and raises a hand. “What a surprise! I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

The poor man nearly jumps off the couch, his entire body seizing in shock. His eyes are wide when they meet Lupin’s before they fall into an immediate look of familiarity.

“Lupin! It’s been ages!”

“Months,” Lupin corrects, but approaches him anyway, using the hand already out of his pocket to pat him on the back when he brings Lupin in for a hug. “How’ve you been, Craig?”

Lupin met Craig Delhomme while running a job last time he was in England. He was working as a hired janitor for the snobby Cliff Bordeaux, whom Lupin's gang relieved of his £10,000 family heirloom. When they found themselves in a tight spot, Craig helped them escape through an old maintenance tunnel, and admitted that he hated Cliff Bordeaux as much as the rest of the neighborhood did. He also distracted the police by pointing them in the wrong direction and helping them make their getaway.

When they left, Lupin just assumed that, like in most cases, they would never cross paths with each other again, and yet here he was, having accidentally just broken into what seemed to be his house.

“Wait, what are you doing here?” Craig asks as he pulls back, tilting his head and pinching his eyebrows together. He still holds Lupin at arm’s length, and Lupin hums as he tilts his head the opposite way of Craig and scratches at his cheek.

“I got a letter from someone telling me to meet them here, but it’s possible I got the wrong address. Do you know a Vinny Loshaw who lives in the area?”

Craig’s eyes light up, mouth falling open in surprise. “You kidding? Vinny’s my cousin!”

Whoa. Small country. Lupin laughs a little and puts his hand back in his pocket. “I never knew.”

It was hard to imagine someone like Craig being related to the serial murderer that is Vinny Loshaw, and Craig smiles at him, a small upturn of his mouth. “It never really came up. I think he’s down in his workshop. He doesn’t like me going down there, and I don’t like to, either. You know how sensitive I am to loud noises, and he does a lot of work down there. The entire place is soundproof.”

That must be where he does his work, Lupin thinks, chewing on the inside corner of his lip. But would he really murder people right below his house, with his cousin just upstairs? And Craig has no idea, does he?

This is sick.

“What kind of work does he do?” Lupin asks casually, and Craig adjusts the glasses on his nose with a chuckle.

“All kinds. He takes commissions from our neighbors- things like metal and woodwork. He’s really good with a knife, you know? He makes these little intricate figures out of hunks of wood. Look.”

Craig walks towards the mantel right across from them and picks up a small wooden figurine. “See? He made this for me.”

Lupin takes it when it’s offered and holds it up to the ceiling light, brows raising. It’s a dog, perfectly carved into nice curves, and the long pelt covering its body is detailed. When he holds it closer for a better look, even the

face is completely detailed, small beady eyes looking back at him and open mouth full of teeth. “This is awesome,” he says, handing the figurine back to Craig, who holds it to his chest and nods.

“He’s really good with a lot of things. Since it’s dark out, I’m sure you didn’t see it, but the house right across from us has a huge metal sculpture that he made, too. That one took him almost an entire year to make.”

Lupin brushes the curtains back and hums into the darkness. “I’ll have to see it some other time. Wait, hold on. Why are you even awake right now, Craig? It’s really late.”

Craig motions to the couch with a sheepish look. “I was really into my book. Besides, Vinny asked me to hold down the fort and keep an eye out for you. He’s really excited to meet you, you know? I think he wants to try to carve you.”

 _Yeah, I bet,_ Lupin thinks, stomach-churning. Craig immediately laughs and covers his mouth.

“Sorry, that came out weird. I swear, he’s not a bad guy.”

“I’m sure,” Lupin says with a strained smile. “Thing is, Craig, the letter he sent said he has a friend of mine. He threatened to hurt him if I didn’t come here.”

Craig’s small, thin brows knit above his eyes. He looks worse for wear, but that might be because it’s an ungodly hour of the night, and Vinny enlisted him with guard duty. “No way. Vinny wouldn’t hurt a fly! He’s real squeamish around blood. We both are!”

Something tells Lupin that Craig has no real idea who his cousin is. “Craig, what do you really know about your cousin?”

“Everything. We live together, and we’re family. What do _you_ know?”

That’s fair, Lupin supposes. He’s the one who broke in, and now he’s making accusations against this guy’s family? “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Do you have the letter on hand? Maybe it was someone pretending to be Vinny.”

Lupin shakes his head. “My partner threw it away.”

Craig frowns. “Ah. Well, like I said, Vinny should be in his workshop!”

Lupin glances around, and Craig slaps his hand to his face, right above the top of his glasses.

“Oh, sorry! I should probably lead you down. Sorry! I’m really tired.” A giggle escapes him, and Lupin smiles beside himself.

Craig takes him towards the kitchen, turning down the hallway that Lupin passed before, reaching out to flick on the light. The hall has quite a few doors, one of which Lupin can guess to be a bathroom, and two leading to bedrooms. There’s one right past the lightswitch, and that’s the one that Craig opens. It leads to a basement, and Lupin is immediately hit with the strong, musty stench. He recoils, and Craig holds a hand up to his face, holding it sideways, index finger touching his nose, bowing his head a little in apology. “Sorry. We keep the basement closed entirely so the sound of him working doesn’t bother the neighbors.”

“Does he ever take a break?” Lupin asks, following Craig down the stairs. Craig laughs a little.

“Sometimes! We really lucked out. He might’ve fallen asleep at his desk. He does that a lot. I’m sorry, but I might run back upstairs if he begins working again.”

Lupin nods. Craig flinched at police sirens miles away, so the sound of the heavy equipment that must be down here must be the worst.

“None of the lights in this hallway work,” Craig tells him, and the darkness is getting so thick that Lupin can barely make out his frame. He keeps his eyes trained to the ground, focusing on following the sound of Craig’s footsteps in front of him. “We were warned trying to rewire would result in a possible fire, so we haven’t bothered. We usually carry torches, but I kind of blanked as we were coming down. Sorry. I’m being such a bad host.”

“It’s alright,” Lupin tells him. “Sleep deprivation can do that. Once we get there, you should head to bed.”

Craig hums. “I will.”

The hallway continues for another few feet before Craig tells him to stop. “The door’s right here. Step back a little so I can open it.”

Lupin does as he’s told, and when the door opens, a faint bit of light bleeds through. Craig steps through first, Lupin hot on his heels now that he can actually see.

The sound that rips out of Craig is small and absolutely distraught. Lupin steps around him and narrows his eyes, hard, at the sight before them.

Lying in a single ring of light towards the back of the basement lies the crumpled figure of Inspector Koichi Zenigata. He isn’t wearing his trench coat or hat, and even from where Lupin stands at the entrance to the room, he can see the telltale color of blood coating his dress shirt collar. Lupin takes an instant step forward.

“W-Wh-What the hell?” Craig croaks next to him. “Is that-- is that a _body?_ Lupin, is that a dead _BODY?!_ ”

“Pops…” Lupin mutters, eyes scanning the room. It’s dark, so he can’t see if there’s anything along the floor. Craig latches to his arm, trembling against him.

“W-Why would… Why does… Why is he here? Wh-where's Vinny…?”

“He must’ve stepped out,” Lupin says, glancing down at him. “You had no idea, did you?”

“W-What? About what? Lupin, what are you not telling me? Why is there a… a d-- Why’s there a dead guy in my basement?!”

“Your cousin,” Lupin begins slowly, prying his arm away from Craig and forcing him to look at him. His eyes are wide and watery, terror written all over his face, “Vinny Loshaw, is a murderer.”

Craig shoves away from him, hard, trembling all over. “No. No, he’s… he’s not. He’s a good guy, he’s--”

“Responsible for the death of over a hundred people.”

Craig hiccups. He looks close to being sick. “No.”

Lupin steps back and slaps the lightswitch right next to the door, flooding the room with light. To his credit, some tables have metal and wood on them, but the others have clearly been stained with blood. Knives, saws, and boxes of who even knew what else were on the other tables, and all of them had straps on the sides to lock wrists and ankles down. Most of the equipment could be chalked up to the work that Craig mentioned before, as evident with all the sheets of scrap metal and crates of firewood around. However, as Lupin steps up to a table, he runs his finger along the darkened bits of wood and bites out: “All of these tables have been stained with blood. Some of this equipment hasn’t even been cleaned properly.”

Craig is still a mess by the entryway, fallen to his knees and hugging himself. He looks traumatized, and Lupin’s sure he will be for the rest of his life. He isn’t sure what he could say that could comfort the man, so Lupin turns his attention towards what he came for in the first place.

Zenigata is unconscious, but breathing, and Lupin kneels before him, giving him a quick once-over. His nose is broken, and one of his eyes his black, the bruising merging together seamlessly. The color is worst on the bridge of his nose, and one nostril is bleeding freely. The damage must’ve been fairly recent, he decides, reaching into his jacket to pull out a handkerchief, gently lifting Zenigata’s head to wipe the blood clean. His lip is busted, and his cheek is swollen, the bruising there light, but apparent. That must’ve been what gave him a black eye in the first place, before the damage to his nose.

Other than that, he seems relatively unharmed. His wrists are tied to his ankles behind his back, and the bare skin of his arms is rubbed raw, just barely breaking the skin. It’s not bleeding too bad, but left unattended for too long will yield a nasty infection, and Lupin reaches into his pocket to pull out a small knife. He rolls Zenigata over, gently, in order to see better, but right as he opens the knife, Craig screams, and the lights go out.

Lupin jumps behind Zenigata, curling his body around the unconscious policeman’s on instinct. He draws his gun, cocking it and holding it out as he begins to work on Zenigata’s ropes.

Seconds later, the light overhead comes back on, and Lupin flinches at the sudden brightness. He stares into the darkness, sneering and dragging his knife across the ropes holding Zenigata hostage.

“Nice to finally meet you,” a silky voice says right behind him, and Lupin turns, swinging out with his knife, only for a hand to catch him by his wrist, twisting it around, grabbing Lupin by his hair and kneeing him, hard, in the back, slamming him to the ground. “Arsène Lupin III.”

Lupin struggles against him, but the bony knee in his back keeps him firmly pinned to the ground. Any attempts also makes him tighten his grip on his wrist, the pain spiking up his arm. “Wish I could say the same,” he bites in return, craning his neck to see his attacker, “Vinny Loshaw.”

Vinny hums above him. “I have a feeling that we will be quite good friends, Lupin. Well, maybe we would. If you weren’t about to die.”

The hold on his wrist is replaced with his other hand curling around his neck, squeezing, and as he adjusts his weight, he digs his knee into his back. Lupin groans under his breath, lungs emptying under the force, and an involuntary shiver wracks his body when hot breath wafts over the shell of his ear.

“Goodnight, Lupin,” he sings, and Lupin screams as hot, white pain seizes his body. Vinny’s knife is long, thin, and sharp, and it’s piercing through his lower hip. Vinny twists the knife, and Lupin yowls again, bringing his elbow back and scoring Vinny hard in the shoulder, knocking him off his back, leaving the knife behind. Lupin immediately reaches back to grab it, and though he knows it’s a bad idea, he can’t just leave the knife inside of him while trying to fight this guy off. In its position, if Lupin falls on his back, he’ll impale himself further, and if Vinny grabs a hold of it again, he can do some extra damage. So, against better judgment, Lupin rips the blade free from his skin and, ignoring the pain, rolls over himself, causing another surge of fire to come from his wound, and he groans, collapsing before he can even finish the somersault. His vision swims, nausea immediately overtaking his system as he struggles to fight through the pain.

In front of him, Vinny sits up from his position on the concrete, and Lupin’s eyes widen a little in surprise.

“C-Craig.”

The man before him grins, a devilish look as he pulls his hair out of the ponytail and takes his glasses off at the same time. “You caught me, Lupin. Congratulations.”

Lupin opens his mouth to speak again, but all that comes out is a shrill gasp, and he doubles over, catching himself on his elbow and gagging when he hits his ulnar nerve against the concrete. Numbness floods his arm, and he collapses, fully, onto the concrete floor. He drops the knife in favor of reaching back to cup his wound and he feels just how damp his clothes are. Damn. This isn’t good.

“I must inform you, however, that my new name is Sven Mulligan. I can’t have you going around, making everyone think that Craig Delhomme is still alive. No, that would be… detrimental… to my image.”

“You son of a bitch,” Lupin snarls, but it comes out more as a pained gasp, voice hitched high through the pain. Fuck. God, dammit all, it really fucking _hurt._ Breathing made it worse, but he can’t help but gasp for air. “This is ab- _hh_ … about the Bordeaux job, isn’t it.”

“That was my job,” Vinny tells him as he approaches, squatting and grabbing Lupin by his hair, hoisting his head up. “I had it planned for months. And in a matter of minutes, you took it from me. Not only that, but I got arrested because of you.”

“You offered,” Lupin sputters, coughing and feeling unsurprised when blood follows. “We didn’t m- _make_ you help.”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Vinny drops Lupin’s hair, and his head slams into the concrete. “The moment you… stole that job, right out from under me, I knew. I had to get on your good side, no matter how… drastic, the measures. So I helped you. You don’t know how it feels, Lupin, to work alongside someone whose neck you want to… wring.”

Vinny stands, walking towards Zenigata, just next to him. Lupin attempts to pull his body away, but moving his right side at all sends intense pain surging through his body, and he gasps, again reaching back to press his hand down. His wound is still weeping openly, and he’s beginning to feel a little lightheaded. He’s going to bleed out at this rate.

“I suppose you must know how it feels,” Vinny says, and Lupin glances up to see him staring down at Zenigata, face blank. “He hates you. And yet, you care about each other. I will never understand either of you.”

Lupin groans and lets his head fall back onto the floor. “Why?”

“Pardon?”

Lupin pushes himself onto his elbows, leaning primarily on his left arm and grabbing the space around his wound, pressing his thumb into the edge of it as he sits up. His vision blacks out for a second, and he staggers, falling onto his shoulder. “Why bring him into this?”

“I needed to give you a purpose. If I had just told you to come, you wouldn’t have. There was nothing in it for you.”

His shoes scuff the ground, and Lupin shifts, trying to move, but Vinny kicks his shoulder, flipping Lupin onto his back.

“Every good criminal needs a hostage.”

And when he slams his foot onto the wound, Lupin bawls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oop
> 
> Art by: [ItsAlex84 <3](https://lexi-does.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where the characterization kind of goes sideways lmao
> 
> thank you guys for reading this far! <3

Zenigata’s ears are ringing, and his head hurts as he slowly regains consciousness. He struggles to open his eyes, vision hazy and doubled. Distantly, he thinks he hears voices, but he isn’t sure where they’re coming from. His eyelids flutter shut, and he furrows his brows as he tries to keep them open. The action sends a new wave of pain and nausea through his system, a migraine blooming, and he winces, groaning softly.

A voice, right above him, begins to speak, but his mind is swimming, blood roaring in his ears, and it takes everything in him to try and understand what they’re saying.

“He hates you,” they say, but Zenigata’s vision blinks black and their words fade into the background. He only hears snippets of whatever they’re saying, but it makes no sense to him. “And… each other. I will… either of you.”

He groans under his breath, struggling to stay above the waves of comatose, and he hears them walk away. He slowly lifts his head, shaking it slightly to wake himself up, shifting his arms only to find that he’s still tied up.

Everything floods back, and he lets his head fall back to the ground. That must’ve been Loshaw just now. But what the hell was he talking about? And who was he talking to?

“Every good criminal needs a hostage.”

And then there’s a scream. A shrill, blood-curdling shriek, and Zenigata jerks, craning his neck towards his knees to see who let out the noise and what happened to cause it, only for his breath to hitch and his eyes to widen.

“Lupin?!”

He can’t see very much of the man past Loshaw, looming over him as he’s on the floor. What happened? How long was Zenigata out?

Loshaw jumps, turning and looking at Zenigata in surprise. “Oh. You’re… awake.”

“Pops,” Lupin gasps out, and Zenigata sees red.

“Loshaw!” Zenigata snarls, straining hard against his ropes. There’s a harsh snap, and suddenly Zenigata’s bending fully at the waist, knees coming hard up to his chest. There’s a moment of stunned silence, in the room.

And then Lupin’s chuckling, his laughter turning into a coughing fit and a hiss of pain. “Ow,” he practically sobs, and Vinny turns to glare back down at him.

“You little _shit,_ ” he growls, bringing his leg back to kick Lupin, hard, in the ribs. The noise that Lupin makes it wet, and Zenigata quickly moves, rolling backwards over his bound wrists. With his hands in front, he tugs the knot on his ankles and his legs are free in an instant. As Loshaw pulls back to kick him again, Zenigata surges forward, hooking his arms around Loshaw’s neck and tugging him close to his body. Bending his elbows, he digs the rope around his wrists into Loshaw’s neck, bending backwards. His height advantage means that Loshaw’s feet leave the floor, and he gags, clawing at Zenigata’s arms.

The new advantage gives Zenigata a moment to examine the fallen thief. He’s definitely lost too much blood already, and he’s shaking, one arm pulled underneath himself and holding onto his side. His fingers are coated in blood.

Zenigata pulls Loshaw tighter against him before letting him hit the floor. The man immediately begins coughing, trying to regain his breath, and Zenigata glares down at him.

A few inches from Lupin lies a long knife, coated in blood, and Zenigata bends to scoop it up, flipping it in his hand to slide the blade against the ropes on his wrist. It takes a few slices and a hard pull and he’s completely free. He tosses the knife into the darkness and rubs his wrists, rotating his neck and body until they pop. “That’s better,” he decides before grabbing Loshaw by the back of his shirt, hoisting him up, securing his elbow around his throat again. Loshaw whines in the back of his throat.

“Where’s my coat?” he asks, flexing, and Loshaw squeaks.

“On the… table,” he wheezes, and Zenigata walks with him until Vinny motions into the darkness, and Zenigata secures it before returning to the light. Dropping Loshaw to the ground, he pulls his coat open and digs into the inner pocket, pulling out his pair of handcuffs, a long rope attached to the middle chain. Discard his coat, he takes a step and snaps the cuffs open.

“Vinny Loshaw,” he begins, grabbing Vinny’s arm and clamping one cuff around his wrist before yanking his other arm back and securing the other one, effectively handcuffing him. “You are under arrest.”

He loops the rope around Loshaw’s ankles, also, and while it’s not the best, it’s definitely the kind of petty payback he was looking for.

With his face to the floor, Loshaw begins to chuckle. “You caught me, Inspector.”

“Shut up,” he spits, hoisting Loshaw by the back of his shirt and dragging him with him as he makes his way back over to Lupin. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, Lupin lets out a soft noise, and groans when Zenigata rolls him over.

He’s pale, which is concerning, because Lupin’s already a pretty pale guy. Sweat dots his forehead, keeping his hair pinned down and damp. His eyelids flutter, but never completely open, and Zenigata rips his tie loose.

“Stay with me, Lupin,” he mutters as he all but tears Lupin’s shirt open, brushing it and his suit jacket away from the wound. It’s not that long, about an inch in length, but it must’ve punctured deep, with all the blood seeping out of him. Lupin’s hand lifts, grabbing Zenigata by his bicep, and Zenigata glances at him as he begins to pull his own shirt open, buttons falling away easily.

Lupin’s arm is trembling as he grips him. “Pops,” he rasps, and Zenigata shrugs out of his shirt, leaving him in a simple white tank top. The blood that got on his overshirt didn’t seep through to the tanktop, but it wouldn’t have mattered if it did, anyway. He was going to get a hell of a lot bloodier now.

“Stop talking, idiot,” he bites, bundling his shirt and pressing it, hard, against Lupin’s side. He whines, high pitched and pained, but Zenigata doesn’t relent. “Do you have enough strength to hold this? I need to go radio in the police and get an ambulance.”

Lupin grimaces, swallowing thickly before he huffs out a breathless, “Yeah,” but Zenigata doesn’t release him until his hand comes up, shakily placed overtop his own.

Zenigata deftly undoes Lupin’s tie, tying it with his own and carefully looping the newfound rope underneath him in order to tie it off as tight as he can, securing Lupin’s hand and the shirt to his body. Lupin moans, and Zenigata digs his hand into Lupin’s shoulder, giving him a light shake.

“Don’t you go dying on me, you hear?”

Lupin coughs, signature smirk shaky, but appearing on his face nonetheless. “Awh, Pops. I knew you cared.”

“Stop talking,” he orders, and Lupin raises his other hand to give a solid salute before his arm falls to the side. Zenigata gets to his feet and turns, scooping to hoist Loshaw up and swing him over his shoulder. The man grunts as his shoulder knocks the wind out of him, and Zenigata ignores it as he begins walking to the other side of the basement.

Zenigata holds his hand out in front of him, hand coming into contact with what feels like a light switch, and he brings his hand up and turns everything on. The room explodes into light, and Zenigata reaches out to grab hold of the door, yanking it open.

The hallway he has to walk down is long, but soon he’s approaching a set of stairs, bathed in light from above. He ascends, and steps foot into a clean, nice-looking house. On his right is more doors, but his left leads towards the end of the hallway, and he lugs Loshaw into what appears to be the living room and out the door. Lucky for him, Lupin’s Fiat is right outside the door, and he tries the door, happy that it opens immediately, and he throws Vinny in first, tossing him in the back before sliding into the driver side. He reaches under the seat, dragging his fingers along the underside until he finds what he’s looking for and pulls off the spare key, jamming it into the ignition and starting the car. Once it’s on, he reaches over and fiddles with the ham radio until it’s tuned to the frequency he needs, and he grabs the mic, pressing the button and raising it to his lips.

“This is Inspector Koichi Zenigata of the ICPO, requesting immediate backup and medical assistance at 8 Mill Lane. I have Vinny Loshaw in my custody, over.”

It’s a matter of seconds, but the radio immediately pings back, “Copy that, Inspector. Backup and an ambulance on the way, over.”

Zenigata clips the mic back to the radio and turns the car off before throwing the passenger seat open, stepping out and bending the seat in order to fish Loshaw out of the back. He shuts the driver door and lugs Vinny around the Fiat in order to shove him into the passenger seat, undoing the rope around his ankles to instead properly knot it around his hands.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay here,” he snarls, and Vinny bows his head as he settles into the seat.

“I accept my defeat, Inspector. I’ve never been great at… escaping.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, locking the door and slamming it shut. He rounds to the driver side and locks it from the outside also, though he knows there would be nothing stopping him from just undoing the cloth sunroof and escaping that way.

Zenigata all but runs back down to the basement, mind racing and heart full of hope. He hopes Vinny doesn’t escape while his back is turned. He hopes backup will arrive shortly. He hopes he can make it down in time.

He hopes Lupin survives.

Lupin is right where he was when Zenigata left, and he rushes forward, coming to a stop and kneeling right next to him. He presses his palm against Lupin’s cheek, hand trembling against his skin. When Lupin doesn’t stir, he raises his hand to Lupin’s nose, but isn’t sure if he can actually feel anything. A curse spills out of Zenigata’s mouth, and he stands, spinning around to grab his trenchcoat. He tucks Lupin’s limp, right hand under his left arm, which is still tied to his side, before draping his coat over Lupin’s body. Then he bends, scooping his arms under Lupin’s knees and upper back, hoisting him up. Lupin is completely limp in his grasp, folding in on himself, cradled firmly against Zenigata’s chest. He looks even smaller than he actually is, buried under the thick fabric of Zenigata’s coat, two whole sizes bigger than Lupin’s entire wardrobe.

“I swear to God, Lupin,” Zenigata huffs, trying to sound irate but he can hear his voice crack. “If you die on me, I’ll never forgive you.”

Lupin’s right side is against him, and Zenigata uses his torso to apply more pressure against Lupin’s hand, holding his shirt- now thoroughly coated in blood- even closer to the wound. And still, Lupin is unresponsive.

The walk back to the main house is maddening. Zenigata’s in a constant state of wanting to walk faster, bring Lupin topside faster, but any time he begins to pick up the pace, he jostles the man in his arms, Lupin’s head gently knocking against his shoulder, and he has to stop, forcing his legs to move slower, be more careful.

He hates this. He really, really hates this.

He walks the slowest down the long, dark hallway, leading back to the main staircase. He can’t see, and while that wasn’t something he was concerned about while he was making his way back, the fact that he’s carrying someone in his arms makes him extra cautious. One false step and they both might hit the ground. That’s not something he can afford to do, especially not now.

Just barely, the grip he has tightens, and he bows his head. They’ll make it. They have to.

The toe of his shoe snags, and Zenigata’s heart plummets to his knees. He staggers, tossing his weight to the side and slamming his shoulder, hard, against the wall, sliding against it and turning in place so his back smacks against it. Pain shoots up his arm, and he coughs through the hurt, hugging the lithe frame in his hold closer. He didn’t drop Lupin.

He has no time to relax, though, and he pushes off the wall and continues onward. They’re almost there.

He’s cautious not to trip up the stairs, and right as they breach through the doorway, a thick feeling lies deep within Zenigata’s chest. Relief crashes over him, and he nearly falls to the ground with the force of it. They made it.

When they step into the cold England air, Zenigata savors it, closing his eyes and breathing it in. He opens his eyes and continues to the street. He can’t get back into the car, hands full with the two handfuls its takes to hold Lupin’s body, so he simply turns and leans against it.

In the pale moonlight overhead, Lupin looks almost worse, and Zenigata shifts his hold on him, angling his body to get more light on his face.

He hopes the dark shadows he sees under Lupin’s eyes is just a trick of the light, but he knows he’s not imagining the slight tremble in his lower lip.

“Lupin?” Zenigata whispers into the night, squeezing him tighter, and Lupin’s face contorts into that of pain.

A moan slips from his lips and he shifts, weakly, in Zenigata’s hold. “ _Gaahhowwww…_ ”

“Hey,” he chokes, shaking Lupin gently in his arms. “Stay with me, Lupin. Are you awake?”

Lupin makes another noise of pain, whining deep in the back of his throat. “Oh, _God--_ ”

“Oi, Lupin!”

In the distance, sirens sound. Zenigata can feel his hands trembling, but he isn’t sure whether it’s from the cold or the adrenaline coursing his veins. They’re so close.

Lupin’s eyes flutter open, but almost immediately squeeze back shut. “ _Pops-?_ ” His voice is breathless, no doubt from the pain he’s feeling, and Zenigata nods his head enthusiastically.

“Yeah,” he says, voice coming out in a huff of air. “I gotcha, Lupin.”

Lupin shifts around, and then his right arm is coming out from under the coat, reaching up weakly and looping around Zenigata’s neck. His blunt fingernails scratch just under his jaw before digging in, his hand shaking violently against him. It doesn’t hurt, but that’s because he has no strength to put behind the action.

“You--” he wheezes, head falling back against Zenigata’s bicep as he shivers again, brows knitting in agony. “You got me.”

It’s a police cruiser that arrives first, followed immediately by two others and finally, an ambulance.

Lupin’s fingers skim across his neck, and Zenigata glances at him to find him staring back through hazed, hooded eyes. “Wh--”

“Your health is more important than your arrest right now,” he tells him, but Lupin doesn’t look any more relaxed.

“Inspector Zenigata!”

He lifts his head to find a policeman jogging up to him. His eyes fall immediately to the body in his arms, stumbling a little in place. “I-Is that-”

“Lupin,” Zenigata tells him, and instinctively turns his body away. “He is not the priority right now.”

The policeman blinks at him, and Zenigata knocks his head towards the Fiat. “The primary suspect is in there.”

He gently lets Lupin’s legs go in favor of pulling out the Fiat key, keeping a firm hold around Lupin’s shoulders, even as Lupin lets his arm slide away from Zenigata’s shoulders. Then he scoops Lupin up, even as he makes a small noise, either in pain or protest. Zenigata ignores it and walks around the car in order to unlock the passenger door. Vinny spares him only a glance before his eyes fall to Lupin.

“Your will to live is strong,” he says, and Zenigata sneers.

“Get out of the car.”

Vinny sighs, but complies, and is immediately seized by two officers. Zenigata flips the key, tucking it in his hand as he carries Lupin towards the ambulance. The back doors are open already, and when the paramedics see him, they immediately deploy the small ramp and begin wheeling the stretcher down towards him.

As he slowly begins to lower Lupin onto the stretcher, he begins to slightly struggle, whimpering softly, and Zenigata glances at his face. Minor panic sets heavy on his brow, and Zenigata pats his thigh in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. Once he’s flush against the bed, he releases his hold, slowly pulling his arms out from under him, taking his coat back as he goes. He turns to face the doctors and he nods, and one of them takes in his face.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” he tells them, and they both nod, but the one strapping Lupin onto the cot suddenly barks, “Stay still!”

“What’s happening!” Zenigata yaps, and turns to see Lupin struggling with all his might, pained noises falling from his lips.

“He started convulsing,” the doctor tells him, voice shaky, and Zenigata all but leaps back towards him, eyes wide. No. Oh, God, don’t tell him he--

“Pops,” the man on the bed gasps out. “Pops, don’t--”

Zenigata’s knuckles go white on the sides of the bed as he leans almost entirely over Lupin’s frame. “Lupin?!”

“Inspector, I need you to back up!”

Lupin’s right arm jerks out, clasping Zenigata by the front of his tank, holding onto him as tight as he can. “Stay,” he pleads, voice small and so, so full of _hurt._ “Stay. _Stay._ I can’t--”

“May I ride?!” Zenigata snaps, head lifting to meet the doctor’s gaze, not meaning to be so harsh, but the display before him is undeniable. Lupin wants-- _needs_ \-- Zenigata to ride with him. The plea is an obvious sign of consent, and the doctor nods.

“Of course, Inspector, but I need you to back away from him.”

Zenigata grabs Lupin’s wrist, squeezing it gently. “Hear that, Lupin? I’m coming with you.”

Lupin’s hold slips away from him, and Zenigata lets his wrist go, taking a few steps back. He waits until Lupin is completely strapped to the stretcher and it’s pushed back into the ambulance before climbing in alongside it and the paramedic working in the back.

He moves to sit on the furthermost chair, right behind Lupin’s head, and he reaches out to brush his fingers through his hair, letting his presence be known.

As soon as everyone’s back inside, they shut the back doors, hook Lupin up to an IV bag, and begin to drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, i've never been in the back of an ambulance so sorry for any inaccuracies! i tried not to detail too much in fear of detailing things wrong, but the little i detailed i hope i didn't portray too bad.
> 
> Art by: [ItsAlex84 <3](https://lexi-does.tumblr.com)


	5. Epilogue

The city outside the window is bright, but something about it is soothing. Zenigata finds himself staring outside quite a few times, just engrossed by the serenity of it all.

On the bed to his left lies Lupin, connected to too many tubes and wires than Zenigata would care to ever see in him again. The heart rate monitor beeps steadily beside him- it’s shrill and annoying, but Lupin seems to be sleeping through it just fine.

A glance at his watch tells him it’s three in the morning. A picked-apart styrofoam cup sits in his hand, remnants of his coffee still at the bottom. He only finished it a few minutes ago, max, but he’s already beginning to feel the effects of sleep.

Upon arrival, Lupin was knocked out cold once more, but after being hooked up to a blood bag, there was almost no risk of him dying in the middle of transport and, not too long after, surgery. If you could call it that. All they really did was stitch him up after putting enough antiseptic on him that Zenigata could still smell it hours later.

Perhaps that’s just the effect of being in the hospital. There’s always the stench of cleanliness and sterility hanging in the air.

Zenigata had a frozen pack that he was to keep on his face for most of the night, and a bandage on his nose, after being thoroughly examined, to help keep the minor fracture Vinny gave him over the course of the night aligned. After using it for a few hours, he’s left it discarded on the table between him and Lupin, wrapped in the cloth given to him alongside the pack.

He picks idly at one of the wraps around his wrists. When the doctors rubbed antiseptic on them, they burned like nothing Zenigata had ever felt before, but the painkillers they gave him for his nose and eye also helped that, and by the time his wrists dried and they were applying the gauze, all the pain was gone. By now, though, the pain is beginning to come back, but he isn’t sure if it’s from the trauma or the lack of sleep.

He needs more coffee, he decides as he rises from his chair. He casts a glance down at Lupin- still sleeping, the steady, deep ride and fall of his chest evident, and Zenigata thinks back to the basement, when his breathing was nearly nonexistent. He really thought Lupin had died, then- all alone, in some dank, dark place he only went to because Zenigata went and got himself kidnapped.

Thinking back on it now, it was kind of ridiculous. He’d been coming out of a bar, on his way back to his hotel room, when he heard the shrill sound of a woman calling for help in a nearby alleyway. Zenigata immediately rushed in to help, announcing his presence as an officer, but only silence met his words. He pushed into the alley anyway, thinking that the maiden had gotten swooped to the side and was being hidden away until he left, and when he passed a lone dumpster, he was tackled from behind, a rag shoved to his face and the sweet smell of chloroform assaulting his senses. Next thing he knew, he was waking up in that basement, hogtied and delirious.

Looking back at it, Zenigata can only shake his head, but he knows he did the right thing by rushing in. Even though it turned out to be a trick, it’s his duty as an officer of the law to keep people safe, and though it ended up with both him and Lupin in the hospital, it also resulted in the arrest of Vinny Loshaw, so it isn’t a complete failure on his behalf.

Satisfied with the thought, Zenigata makes his way to the door and, upon touching it, pauses to glance back.

Before Lupin got admitted into the room- to make sure his wounds would heal properly by morning and nothing was infected before releasing him to Zenigata’s company, where they would then be taken back to Japan in order to properly arrest and detain Lupin in prison- he granted Zenigata permission as a Partner in Care, which Zenigata blamed on the blood loss because why would he, the very man Zenigata is trying to arrest, grant Zenigata, the very man trying to arrest Lupin, access to something that gives him a reason to literally never let Lupin out of his sight at any given point in time during the entire time he’s in the hospital?

It doesn’t make sense. Then again, why was he so adamant about having Zenigata ride in the ambulance with him?

It was definitely the loss of blood. Lupin has been acting weird, practically all night, and the fact that he only really saw Lupin after he’d been injured means he must’ve just been loopy and out of his mind to the point where it clouded his judgment and made him confused.

Zenigata turns the handle in his hand and pulls the door open, turning to throw the cup in the trash right beside him before stepping out into the hallway. It’s quiet, and Zenigata tries the handle before easing it shut behind him, just to make sure it’s not locked behind him. Once it’s flat with the wall, he releases the handle and makes to move down the hall, doing his best to keep quiet.

The trip down to the cafeteria area of the hospital passes quick, and Zenigata rubs his eyes as he digs through his wallet to find a few extra coins to pump into the vending machine, punching the number for a long, thin can of coffee. The food court isn’t open- hasn’t been for hours, since his last cup, so he’ll have to make do with the cold caffeinated drink he just ordered. It hums, the sound loud in the quiet corridor, and he bends to grab it out of the bottom hatch, cracking it open and taking a sip. It’s good, and that’s all he cares about as he turns on his heel and makes his way back to the hospital room.

Once back, he quietly slips back inside, carefully shutting the door and letting out a soft sigh as he rests his head against the cool wood. A slight chill brushes his back, and he shivers, rubbing his free hand against his arm and turning around. Why was it so--

Ah.

His eyes fall immediately on the open window, curtains blowing gently against the breeze. The monitor is unplugged, and it won’t be long until the nurses notice and run in to check what happened.

He isn’t sure how to feel as he approaches the bed, the taste of coffee sour in the back of his throat. Crudely drawn on the pillowcase is Lupin’s signature bean-like doodle, squiggly and misshapen from drawing on wrinkles, with a message hastily scrawled in French, reading: _Felt better, so I decided to leave! See you later!_

Below the bean, though, is almost worse writing in Japanese, a message clearly only for Zenigata’s eyes, and he smooths the casing out in order to properly read it.

_Sorry for leaving~ Catch you next time, Pops~! ♡_

Zenigata isn’t sure whether to focus more on the astonishment or the grief that wracks him to the core. Instead, he’s suspended in a weird kind of emotional dead zone, sitting heavily in the chair he was sitting in minutes before, sipping his can of coffee.

When the door slams open, concerned, sleep-deprived nurses clambering in, he knows he has no way to explain himself- to them or his commanding officers.

“W-What happened? Where’d he go?!”

He motions to the pillow, taking another sip. “He was gone when I got back.”

“Back?”

Zenigata watches as one approaches the pillow. The rest of the conversation passes in a blur of clashing voices and questions Zenigata can’t answer. He ignores them all and instead just looks back out the window.

It really is a nice view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s the end of that! I hope you all enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading this far! I hope you enjoyed!!!! And I hope you’ll stay tuned, cuz I’ll see you in the next story. Take care! <3
> 
> Art by: [ItsAlex84 <3](https://lexi-does.tumblr.com)


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